


together we could break this trap

by Kody (saturated)



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Canon, Fix-It of Sorts, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, it's about the yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23809495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturated/pseuds/Kody
Summary: It was the sunny day warmth that Richie felt when he looked into the deadlights, and suddenly he was 18 again, his last summer in Derry before he had to become an adult, before he got the fuck out of this hellhole.  For years he had said he was going to run, to get out as soon as he could and get as far away as possible.  As the years went on, now the time had come, and the daunting task of existing as his own person outside of his friends, outside of his family, outside of the only life he had ever known was at the forefront, and Richie decided to push it all away and have one last endless summer---What Richie saw in the deadlights, a memory and a dream rolled into one.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 16
Kudos: 43





	together we could break this trap

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by [this specific piece of art](https://daikimine.tumblr.com/post/615780297776283648/you-and-me-by-james-tw) (go follow daikimine on tumblr, she's so good at art and my friend and I love her) and then things just got out of hand lol
> 
> Title from "Born to Run" by Bruce Springsteen (because that's like my penultimate reddie song) 
> 
> Anyway enjoy!

Richie always liked summer, the warmth of the sun, the bright, sunny days, the freedom from school and obligations, nothing to do but exist. That’s what he did most summers. He would ride around and go swimming and play at the arcade and wreak havoc wherever he could. Sometimes he was alone, but most of the time he had someone in tow, maybe Bill and Bev the day he got lost when he took his truck out of town and decided to take a different way home, or maybe Ben when he finally was able to sit down and read a book and then they would talk about it for hours at a time, or that one time with Stan and Mike when they dragged him bird watching but he ended up falling out of a tree and breaking his leg, putting him out of commission for the rest of the summer. But usually it was Eddie. Eddie was always there in the background, watching, waiting, or maybe that was what Richie was doing.

It was the sunny day warmth that Richie felt when he looked into the deadlights, and suddenly he was 18 again, his last summer in Derry before he had to become an adult, before he got the fuck out of this hellhole. For years he had said he was going to run, to get out as soon as he could and get as far away as possible. As the years went on, now the time had come, and the daunting task of existing as his own person outside of his friends, outside of his family, outside of the only life he had ever known was at the forefront, and Richie decided to push it all away and have one last endless summer.

He didn’t tell anyone when he was leaving, and he didn’t tell them he was running off to California, at least not officially. They all had their plans, their colleges and jobs lined up, ready to begin the next stage of their life, none of them going anywhere close to Los Angeles. And that killed Richie, but he couldn’t imagine running off to anywhere else. He only wished that he didn’t have to do it alone.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t tell anyone. Maybe that’s why he treated his plans like a big dirty secret because the moment they knew, it would be permanent and real. It would be written down in the books and if he backed out, he would be the coward he always knew he was, and maybe he was a coward. At least this was easier than doing the other thing, the thing he couldn’t do.

Eddie was always there in the background, always in the back of Richie’s mind. Nothing would happen. Nothing _could_ happen, not while they lived in Derry and not while their plans kept them on different sides of the country.

It wasn’t like Richie hadn’t noticed the lingering looks and the building tension between the two of them, the sweet and gentle touches that he didn’t share with anyone else, like when Eddie’s arm brushed his when they sat next to each other or when Richie would lay his head in Eddie’s lap when they watched a movie and Eddie would slowly run his fingers through Richie’s hair or when they went out to eat, just the two the them, and they would rest their feet on top of each other’s, none of which Richie ever did with anyone else.

The closest he ever got was perhaps with Bev, who had a habit of holding everyone’s hand, whoever was closest. It was usually Ben who always had a spot next to Bev, but Bev would take anyone’s hand, usually toting two boys, one on each side. But that was hardly the same thing. Bev did that with everyone.

If you didn’t know Eddie, you would have thought he had an aversion to touch, you would have noticed the way he shied away from shoulder bumps and knocking knees and couch cuddles, opting to remain at least a foot away from even the people he was close to, but not Richie. Richie was different, and he knew that. For some reason, Eddie had chosen him. Eddie had chosen him for the hugs and sharing the hammock and sleeping in the same bed.

Eddie must have known what this did to Richie.

Richie couldn’t blame Eddie for picking just one person to hold this role, but why did he have to pick Richie? He must have known that Richie was over the moon for him, and he must have known that it was making running that much harder.

Richie couldn’t help but think of this when he draped his legs over Eddie’s while they watched a movie at his house, _Stand by Me_. Richie remembered the first time he and Eddie watched it when it came out. They were only ten, but somehow it stuck, the feeling of friendship, of lifelong bonds that meant the world to a couple of young boys.

Richie always felt connected to this movie, and he knew Eddie did too. This was _their_ movie.

It was late June and the croaks of backyard frogs was faintly heard through the open windows while Eddie turned the volume up. He was wearing one of Richie’s shirts, his Van Halen one, which he tended to do these days. Richie never mentioned it.

“Eddie, dear,” Maggie said as she passed through the living room, toting a basket of laundry on her hip, “are you staying for dinner?”

“Is that even a question?” Richie asked before Eddie could answer.

“I can answer for myself, Trashmouth,” Eddie quipped, but Richie knew the answer. Eddie turned towards Maggie and said in that polite manner he always used when addressing parents, although Richie had noticed Eddie lessen it in recent years, “If you’ll have me, Mrs. Tozier.”

Maggie lightly ruffled Eddie’s hair as she passed him, the only other touch besides Richie’s that Eddie leaned into, and said, “Any day, sweetie.”

Richie knew she meant it. Since the day that Eddie realized he didn’t have asthma, that his pills were fake, that his mother was batshit crazy, he had been spending more and more time here, staying for dinner most nights, sleeping over whenever Sonia would let him, wandering in even when he knew Richie wasn’t home only to have Maggie put him to work in the kitchen, something Eddie actually liked.

Sometimes it was hard for Richie to imagine his home without Eddie in it, and when Eddie wasn’t here, there was always something wrong, a feeling in the pit of his stomach that told him to get Eddie here immediately. He didn’t know if it was his fear that Sonia was doing something to Eddie, or that he just missed him that much. Whatever it was, like every feeling Richie had about Eddie, he ignored it, he placed on the fact that Eddie was his best friend, and best friends are allowed to miss each other when they’re apart. It didn’t have to mean anything.

And when ignoring it failed, he would call Eddie just to hear his voice. Eddie always understood. For as much as Eddie berated and chastised Richie for the stupid shit he did, he always understood.

Eddie turned his attention back to Richie who had been carefully watching the interaction. Richie didn’t realize how intently he had been watching, how much he had been thinking, when Eddie scrunched his brow, waited a second for Maggie to exit the room, and said, “What’s wrong?”

Richie shook his head. “Nothing.”

And when a flash of worry went across Eddie’s face, Richie quickly thought of some bullshit comment to add on to it.

“The only thing that’s wrong is your face.” He made a motion similar to the wax-on method of Karate Kid. “This…is what’s wrong.”

Eddie kicked him and laughed. “You’re a dick.”

“That’s my name. Don’t wear it out.”

The conversation was over, and Eddie relaxed his legs back on Richie’s, returning his attention to the television, resting his head against the back of the couch, the soft glow of the screen and the light of the setting sun illuminating Eddie and highlighting every beautiful feature he had from his soft hair to his big brown eyes and his squishy cheeks (and Richie knew how squishy they were first hand).

The connection between them burning the air, sizzling and crackling like lightning ready to set fire to a tree in the forest, the potential to start a forest fire and burn everything down to the ground, destroying everything in its wake. Richie knew that fire would burn bright, brighter than anything he had ever known, but for how long? How long before someone else would come an put them out? How long before someone reminded them that they weren’t supposed to be burning, that they were destroying themselves one day at a time?

Or no one would stop them. They would burn and burn until there was nothing left. At least, that was what Richie had convinced himself, that he and Eddie were nothing but a forest fire ready to destroy each other should they ignite. Convincing himself of that was easier that knowing he and Eddie could never exist the way that Richie always dreamed they could. Or even worse, that there was no potential forest fire, that there was no spark, no lighting, and it was only something Richie had constructed in his mind to make himself feel better.

But like everything else, he tried not to think about it.

He tried not to think about the Fourth of July when Mike lifted a bottle of whiskey from his dad’s liquor cabinet, when the Losers went to the park and found a spot way in the back where a million other teenagers were hiding in the dark, circling up and passing it around. He tried not to think about how he already knew Eddie was a lightweight from those two parties he took him to, and how Eddie barely had three beers before growing flush and giggly.

And Richie really tried not to think about how he didn’t notice before, but Eddie was clingy when drunk, was a giggling mess that leaned on Richie (and sometimes Bev or Bill), laughing at everything Richie said, desperately trying to sit near Richie despite Richie’s constant movement.

Richie couldn’t help himself. He was a loud and energetic drunk, the life of the party, cracking jokes and trying to get everyone to dance despite the lack of music, hopping up and down and cheering at the fireworks while people that only knew him as the class clown were yelling at him to shut the fuck up, and his friends were encouraging him. All of them except Eddie who was constantly tugging at his shirt and begging him to sit with him.

Eventually, like all nights, Richie lost his rhythm. He tired himself out and sat down, subconsciously next to Eddie who, most nights, would let Richie put an arm around him or would lean his own head on Richie’s shoulder. But tonight, Eddie sidled up behind Richie, wrapping his arms and legs around him, holding him from behind like a koala, pressing his face into Richie’s back.

Richie tried not to think about it, but it was hard when the alcohol was in charge and Eddie was wrapped around him. But he was sober enough to bite his tongue, to not say anything about Eddie being his “girlfriend” or not place his hands over Eddie’s, putting them even closer together than they already were.

But he couldn’t stop the thoughts. He couldn’t stop the thoughts of warmth, (the feeling of the summer sun beating on his face despite the nighttime sky) of the tight hold around him, of how safe he felt in Eddie’s arms. He also couldn’t stop the thoughts of how sweaty he was and quickly tried to remember if he put on deodorant that day, of how Eddie chose him, yet again to lean on, to hold, to touch. And he couldn’t stop thinking of the eyes on him, not from his friends who had grown used to these things, but the eyes of everyone else around.

Richie didn’t know why it bothered him so much when he knew that after this summer, he would never see them again. He wanted them to think well of him, which was a long shot anyway considering his loudmouth, impulsive reputation. But the others were probably also trying to confirm his other reputation, the one he tried not to think about.

“Place your bets,” Bev said, snapping Richie back into reality. “How long before Eddie passes out?”

“Hundred bucks,” Richie said trying to hide his wandering mind, “that he’s already sleeping.”

Eddie loosened his grip long enough to pinch Richie’s side, and then moved back to holding him just as tightly as before, a hold that had become comfortable and welcome. Richie didn’t know why they had denied themselves this for so long.

“Hundred b-buh-bucks,” Bill said, “that Eddie stays awake and kills you before the night is over.”

And Richie laughed, pretending like he wasn’t focusing on Eddie. Eddie’s arms tight around his chest, Eddie’s legs wrapped around him, feet in Richie’s lap, Eddie’s hot breath on his back. But Richie had practice for this sort of thing. It wasn’t as though they hadn’t shared a bed before, far too often for two teenage boys who were just best friends to be doing, Richie would often think to himself, but would dismiss because that gave way into the thoughts that Richie couldn’t think about.

Besides, if Richie thought about how two teenage boys shouldn’t be close, that the way they acted drew the attention that Richie so often ignored, then he wouldn’t be able to think about the touch, the gentle hands on his body as the two of them tested their limits, simultaneously ignoring what it meant for two teenage boys who were supposed to be best friends to be touching like this.

Richie gave Eddie a piggyback ride back to his house, avoiding the Kaspbrak residence for fear of Sonia still being awake, waking up to the smell of alcohol on her son, her perfect baby boy, and instead deciding it would be better if Eddie spent the night with Richie. Richie didn’t bother to put Eddie down at the door because he couldn’t. Eddie had dozed off on his back, resting his head on Richie’s shoulder, his arms dangling weightless around Richie’s neck, and Richie had to think about how light Eddie was during the day and how heavy he was at night. Richie wouldn’t let him live this down.

Richie gave a small salute to his father still awake in the living room, reading by the lamp light, and Wentworth wished him a good night, reminding him to grab the Ibuprofen now so Eddie would have it in the morning, before motioning like he was zipping his lips, a callback to a previous time that Richie had brought home a drunk Eddie, and another time even further back that Richie stumbled himself through the front door, both times to find Wentworth sitting in the living room, both times to him promising not to tell Maggie. Teenagers will be teenagers, after all. At least, Richie was coming home at the end of the night.

Richie roused Eddie long enough for him to get in bed, long enough for his head to hit the pillow, knocking him out. Richie took off Eddie’s shoes, a touch that seemed so simple, and maybe even gross to others, but he was taking care of Eddie, his best friend, refusing to acknowledge the connection, the tension, the electricity that went along with a best friend being this gentle with his best friend, knowing that after the shoes came off, Richie would change into sweatpants and get into bed with Eddie, knowing that at some point, Eddie would curl up next to Richie because Richie’s bed was too big. They had grown used to sleeping in Eddie’s bed which was only twin sized. They had grown used to the touch, the proximity and comfort of sharing a bed with your best friend.

It had become second nature, especially during the summer months, for Richie to sneak out of his room at night and find himself at Eddie’s, sleeping there and waiting for the morning to arrive and pass before bothering to hop out of the window and leave. Maybe it meant something that Richie slept at Eddie’s more than his own, and maybe it meant something that they shared a bed, and maybe it meant something that Richie never wanted to leave, knowing he was unable to sleep in his own bed these days, unable to sleep with Eddie’s soft breathing next to him, unable to sleep without Eddie’s touch, his arms, his legs tangled in Richie’s.

Richie forced himself to ignore the butterflies in his stomach one day later in July when he arrived at Eddie’s room a little later than usual, having to hop immediately into bed because Eddie sneered at Richie opening the window and cracking a joke about being the bogeyman, because Eddie had already had a rough day at the doctor and didn’t need Richie being late or making bad jokes or even worse, skipping a night.

Richie had come dressed to sleep, so he kicked off his shoes and crawled into bed with Eddie, the two of them laying on their sides, looking at each other in the darkness, or as much as Richie could look at Eddie without his glasses on. They placed their hands between them, not quite holding each other, but not quite apart, their fingers brushing and playing with each other, a motion that was common, almost unnoticeable.

Almost.

Richie always noticed, feeling the burn of Eddie’s fingers on his, sometimes the full flame of his palm as Eddie would reach for something to hold onto, like Richie would disappear if he let go. The fire would burn its way into Richie’s heart, his chest, his gut, building up butterflies in his stomach, something he always attributed to liking people holding his hand, leaving him a deer in the headlights, motionless and helpless to the touch. 

He liked it when Bev held his hand, so it made sense that he liked it when Eddie held his hand, and he was almost able to push away the thought, the persistent, everlasting thought that Bev didn’t make his heart beat out of his chest. Bev didn’t make Richie worry if his hands were too sweaty and Bev didn’t make Richie think about how his hair looked or if his shirt matched his pants.

But Eddie always made him think that. Richie lay there on the bed, Eddie’s fingers absentmindedly playing with his, and the only thing Richie could think about was that zit that popped up on his cheek this morning, and Eddie’s perfect, freckled face, shining in the light of the full moon outside the window, illuminating him like a spotlight in a romantic movie. Or like a spotlight on a stage, all eyes centered on Eddie because that was all Richie could think when he saw him. How could anyone not look at Eddie when he walked in a room?

“Sometimes I really hate my mom,” Eddie muttered after a minute.

This was nothing new, nothing Richie hadn’t already heard before. He had learned years ago how to address Eddie and his relationship with his mother, knowing he shouldn’t assert his opinion unless Eddie asked for it, knowing he shouldn’t be fully truthful with his opinion either because it usually involved advising Eddie to tell his mom to fuck off. But Richie also knew that Eddie was seeking comfort, affirmation that he was allowed to feel the way he was feeling. It was a blurry line in the sand, a line that had been washed away by the tide, still faintly visible but growing harder and harder to see, and unfortunately, Richie had the bad luck of having to look for that line frequently.

“Yeah?” Richie said. “What else is new?” 

It was a safe option, a vague tease, a soft jest to keep the mood light because he knew if he didn’t Eddie would start crying, and it was nothing more than a simple question, especially since Richie had stopped joking about Eddie’s mom recently. As Eddie grew older, the jokes became less and less funny as Sonia became more and more controlling. There were other things for Richie to joke about anyway.

There were other things for Richie to joke about like Eddie’s deep brown eyes and his fluffy hair that Richie definitely didn’t want to run his hands through and Eddie’s height that made him easy to throw around even when he was “fighting back” and the way Richie’s clothes were too big on Eddie whenever he stole them and the laugh lines that Richie swore would give Eddie wrinkles because he couldn’t stop laughing at Richie jokes. There were plenty of other things for Richie to joke about, things he almost refused to notice.

“I’m eighteen fucking years old,” Eddie said. “An adult, and she thinks she’s entitled to everything the doctor says to me.” Eddie scrunched his brow in the way he always did when he was mad but too tired to do anything about it, and Richie had to fight the urge to smooth out the wrinkles with his thumb, every single time. “She even tried to fight to get into the room with me like I’m fucking five and would cry if she dared to leave me alone.”

“Fuck her,” Richie said halfheartedly. “My mom stopped going in with me when I was like twelve.”

“I wish she would listen,” Eddie said, voice dropping into almost a whisper. “I’m doing so much for her and she never fucking listens.”

Another reminder that Eddie had different plans than Richie, that Eddie was staying in Derry and going to Eastern Maine, living at home and commuting to Bangor every day while he took his classes in whatever the fuck his mother approved of because she was the one paying for it. Bill and Ben tried to convince Eddie to apply to other schools, that maybe he would get lucky and get a scholarship, and Eddie said he would think about it to get them off his back politely, but Richie knew he didn’t, he knew it was a lie when Eddie claimed that they rejected him or the scholarship wasn’t enough.

Richie tried more than once to ask Eddie to come with him. They could go to California together, find themselves in Los Angeles while they worked shitty day jobs and got a tiny one-bedroom apartment with obnoxious neighbors, one of which Richie always imagined was a dealer he could get high with on the weekends. California had a knack for attracting those kinds of people, and Richie could admit that maybe he was one of those people himself.

He tried more than once to ask Eddie to follow him, but the words always got caught in his throat like Richie knew between the words forming in his mind and forming in his mouth that asking your best friend to run away with you wasn’t something a best friend did, that Richie would have to acknowledge that maybe Eddie wasn’t just his best friend, that maybe there was something more, the connection that Richie ignored, could almost push away.

So instead of asking, Richie would complain about how lonely the open road would be, how he would have to make new friends that could put up with his big mouth like Eddie did, because that was best friends did, and best friends didn’t ask their best friend to run away.

“You could leave,” Richie almost whispered, almost hoping that Eddie wouldn’t hear.

“And go where?” Eddie asked. Behind his eyes was a different question, the question he wanted to ask, and Richie couldn’t let himself pretend he knew what it was because that wasn’t what best friends thought. Richie couldn’t let himself be sure that he knew that in reality, Eddie was asking to come with Richie, that he wouldn’t tag along unless Richie asked him himself.

But Richie couldn’t. The words, like every time, got caught in his throat because he knew that he shouldn’t acknowledge it.

But this time Richie almost did, almost asked Eddie to come with him, almost dragged Eddie out of there, to never see Derry or Sonia again. He almost did. He almost wasn’t a coward.

That was the curse of being a coward, though, was that you could almost do things, you could be one step away from doing the thing that scared you the most, and it didn’t matter because you still didn’t do it. Richie still couldn’t ask Eddie to come with him because he was a coward and he knew it. And because he was a coward and he knew he was, the only thing he could tell Eddie was how brave he was, how he believed in him and knew that he could stick it out if he tried.

And Eddie’s face fell, and it killed Richie that he couldn’t ask, that he couldn’t erase the sadness and fear behind Eddie’s eyes as he came to terms with the fact that he was stuck in Derry with his mother. All Richie wanted to do was to erase that feeling. All Richie wanted to do was make Eddie feel cared for.

“Or you could come with me,” Richie said, heart pounding in his ears, a lump forming in his throat, “to California.”

Eddie’s eyes shone in the moonlight, the threat of tears inside them, a glimmer of hope shining through the night, piercing Richie to his very core. The only thing he ever wanted to do was protect Eddie, though he never knew from what. 

It began with bullies picking on Eddie because he was so short, so small, ready to fight back but unsure how and always outnumbered, and Richie was there to say something stupid and take the punches while Eddie cleaned him up, muttering something about Richie being an idiot but always ending it with a soft “thank you”. And then it was Pennywise, a threat Richie never would have seen coming, but It did and he was there because Eddie needed him to be, or maybe Richie needed Eddie to be there. Richie still wasn’t quite sure how much of Eddie needing protection was his own delusion into feeling useful and important to Eddie, a trick of his mind to ensure that Eddie would always need Richie and he would never be forgotten. And there was always Sonia looming behind the scenes, feeding Eddie lies and fake pills and manipulation tactics masquerading as an overprotective mother. Richie was never sure what to do about her.

Maybe that was why he made so many jokes about her while he was in middle school.

Eddie bit his lip, linking a few of his fingers with Richie’s, gently, nothing that would constitute as hand holding but something close enough, close enough to know that Eddie was trying to give Richie some kind of comfort as well as taking some for himself.

“That’s a big decision,” Eddie said.

It wasn’t a decline, but it wasn’t affirmation either. It was a hard maybe that Richie knew Eddie would talk himself out of, and Richie knew he was too big of a coward to try and convince Eddie otherwise.

“That’s okay,” Richie said. “You can think about it.”

And Eddie smiled softly, squeezing Richie’s fingers, making Richie wish Eddie would take his hand like they used to do before all of these arbitrary rules about what two teenage boys who were best friends could and couldn’t do came into play. Richie tried to remember when Eddie stopped holding his hand, or whether maybe it was him that stopped holding Eddie’s hand, when they were out in public, when they had to learn what the names and the stares meant, when they had to figure out why Sonia practically had an aneurysm over Eddie not listening and holding Richie’s hand anyway, when Maggie sat them down when they were maybe 11 or 12 and gently, sweetly, tenderly told them why people stared, what the names meant, and they were embarrassed, not because of the names and implication, but because Maggie of all people had to tell them.

They still held hands in private, although that slowly went away too. Now all Richie could hope for were these late nights when Eddie would hook their fingers together, or group hangouts when in the commotion they could put their hands behind their backs and link their pinkies together, or sometimes when they went swimming at the quarry, they could almost hold hands underwater, almost because they knew what the names meant and what it would mean if anyone saw.

And unfortunately, Richie was a coward. He wanted Eddie’s hand and he couldn’t take it.

But it was that one day in August when the Losers were all splashing around, the summer sun beating down and giving what Richie knew would turn into a sunburn that Eddie would complain about when it started to peel, and Richie couldn’t help his wandering hands when he had to pick at his skin, another thing for Eddie to complain about. Richie never complained because it usually meant Eddie was hovering over him, berating him in that soft, worrisome way he always did, sometimes even going so far as to offer to rub aloe vera on his back, and half the time Richie would say yes and the other half would be so flustered that Eddie cared enough that he couldn’t stop himself from saying no.

Richie didn’t even notice the sunburn until Stan made a comment that his back was looking redder than Bev’s hair, a comment to which Richie tried hopelessly to look at his back, an obvious joke that Stan reacted to by slapping Richie’s back. It was more painful than expected and Richie let out a yelp. Maybe he ought to put on sunscreen like Eddie said to do, but that would mean getting out of the water and that was the last thing on his mind, not when Eddie was sitting on a sand bank in the water, laughing at something Mike had just said, tanning up in a way that wasn’t fair because it meant that Richie could tear his eyes away.

Instead of getting out, he dunked his head under and swam over to where Eddie was sitting, grabbing his leg and jumping out in an attempt to scare him, but the only reaction Eddie gave was settling his chin in his hand and rolling his eyes when Richie watched him. He didn’t even jump.

Richie took a seat next to Eddie, their bare shoulders bumping each other, something Eddie also didn’t react to.

“I can’t believe that didn’t scare you,” Richie tried joking off his failed action. “I’m like fucking Jaws you have nothing to say.”

Eddie knocked Richie’s knee under water. “Can’t inflate your ego anymore, can I? Someone has to take you down a peg.”

Not too far away, Bev splashed Ben and Stan, and from behind, Bill snuck up and dunked her head under the water. When she returned to the surface, she quickly did the same to him.

Richie wasn’t sure if it was water or sweat between his and Eddie’s arms that were pressed together, but he knew it was the cover of water that helped his hand slip close to Eddie’s, and it was the water and the heat of connection in the hot summer day under the cool water that made Eddie hook his pinky finger around Richie’s.

Richie burned up, and he couldn’t have said whether it was from Eddie, or the hot summer sun beating down on his face, and he had to remind himself not to look at it, even though for some reason, every part of himself was aching to stare right at it. He tore his eyes away to look at Eddie instead.

Eddie kept watching their friends, and Richie couldn’t tell if his face was red because he was burning up or because he was embarrassed. At least Richie could play it off as a sunburn.

“You know, Rich,” Eddie said, and Richie’s breath hitched as he wondered what the fuck Eddie could possibly say while they were close like this, “California’s going to be killer on your skin. I better not see you again and you have wrinkles like nobody’s business.”

Richie laughed. “That’s a good one, Eds. Guess you’ll have to send me off with an industrial size sunscreen bottle so I don’t wither away.”

“Gives me a reason to check in with you,” Eddie said, shyly smiling while looking off to the distance. His hair, his eyes, his freckles all glowed in the sun as the sweat and quarry water dripped from his forehead. Richie cursed everything that Eddie was blessed to tan more than he burned, and his sun kissed skin radiated a warmth that the sun didn’t provide. This warmth didn’t burn, didn’t scald. This warmth was welcoming, a homecoming, like a fireplace in the dead of winter.

Richie didn’t know what had made him so uncharacteristically brave, but he swallowed and laced his fingers with Eddie’s, taking his hand the way they hadn’t since they were thirteen, their fingers intertwined, palms pressed together, holding on for their life. Eddie didn’t pull away, and instead looked at Richie, still smiling like they shared a secret. They did share a secret. The simple act of their hands being under the water was secret enough.

But the moment was over when Bev had come up on the side, splashing them, kicking and pushing water at them, yelling at them to come hang out or she wouldn’t stop bothering them. Who knew how many more times they would have like this in the quarry? Stop sneaking off and spend time with us before we all leave.

Richie bounded after her, quickly forgetting his hand tangled with Eddie’s under the water, leaving Eddie in the metaphorical dust as he tackled Bev into the water. They splashed and played and suddenly Eddie was there too, splashing alongside them.

There was something about the water that made Richie forget that they were only in their shorts, their legs and chests bare, when he grabbed Eddie from behind, wrapping him in his arms and holding him close, dunking him under the water, tossing him around like a toy, letting the others splash him while Eddie was hopeless to do anything. Richie tried to memorize Eddie’s wide smile when he finally let go, and forced away the ghost of Eddie pressed against his chest, not a new feeling but a new sensation because Richie knew exactly why he had to let go of Eddie and couldn’t get out of the water for another ten minutes, but instead he didn’t think about it and forced it deep, deep down, never to be thought of again.

It was the night before Richie was supposed to leave that he felt Eddie’s weight on his chest again, Eddie claiming the spot between Richie’s legs, pressing his back to Richie’s chest after he had decided to step outside for a smoke break.

The Losers had all gathered at Mike’s, whose parents graciously let them use the barn for an all-night party to say goodbye. Richie was the first to leave the next morning, and there was no way in hell he was going to bed when he could be partying with his friends one last time.

But at some point between his third and fourth beer and also somehow two shots in, a tipsy Richie excused himself for a smoke, and before Bev could offer to join him, Eddie hopped up, not bothering to ask if it was okay. Eddie knew it was, and Richie had expected it. He wasn’t quite sure when it had happened, but after discovering that Eddie’s asthma was fake, Eddie had begun inviting himself outside with Richie more and more, until eventually he decided to try it himself. Richie had worried, knowing Eddie had before that day called them “cancer sticks” but allowed him to try. As it turned out, Eddie didn’t seem to like it that much, but he did a few hits whenever he went outside with Richie.

And Richie assumed tonight wouldn’t be any different. He assumed they would come outside and sit next to each other and Richie would smoke the majority of his cigarette and Eddie would take a few pulls but for the most part would sit and enjoy Richie’s company just like every other night. What he didn’t expect was for Eddie to sit between his legs and lean into him like this was something they did all the time.

Richie did everything he could to pretend it wasn’t happening, to ignore the soft smell of soap on Eddie’s hair or the feeling of Eddie’s heartbeat through his chest. Richie wasn’t that drunk, and he didn’t think Eddie was either, but then he remembered the Fourth of July when Eddie wrapped himself around Richie, a moment that was shared with two best friends, and then it was okay. That’s all they were, Richie had to remind himself, best friends.

Except they weren’t, not anymore. Richie knew that. He knew that best friends didn’t tell secrets like they did or wrap their arms around each other like they did or share beds like they did or hold hands like they did. They were best friends as one point, but when people started looking at them, watching them from a distance, spreading rumors and jumping to conclusions because two teenage boys who were best friends shouldn’t be touching each other the way that they were, something had changed. Neither of them said anything, but maybe that was because they didn’t notice until now.

Richie lit his cigarette, smoking it slowly, pretending like it was normal for Eddie to sit like this. Eddie reached vaguely behind him, his fingers outstretched, and Richie handed him the cigarette. Eddie took a hit and handed it back.

Richie couldn’t ignore it. Eddie looked really fucking sexy when he was smoking a cigarette.

And Richie couldn’t help it when he tried to test the waters, to see just how far he could push the closeness, the tension, the touch.

“You ever shotgun before?” Richie asked coyly. He would have been the first to admit he did it once with Bev, and it was fun, but getting close to her face like that, even if they didn’t fully kiss was weird and a little uncomfortable. It didn’t help that he snuck into Eddie’s room that night and thought about doing it with Eddie while Eddie rambled on about the newest X-Men comic.

“No,” Eddie said.

“Do you even know what it is?”

“Of course, I do,” Eddie retorted half-heartedly. He turned between Richie’s legs to look at him, the two of them still close together, and Eddie’s legs thrown over Richie’s, gently wrapping around his middle. It was a comfortable closeness, like they were sharing secrets in the dark, one that Richie found easy. His back was pressed against the barn, denying him a quick getaway, but he knew he wouldn’t need one.

Richie looked at him for a second, the flood light from the barn illuminating his face from above. He looked almost menacing, like a cruel reminder of what Richie could have if he wasn’t a coward, if he wasn’t hiding behind the lie of wanting to shotgun with Eddie and just admit that he wanted to kiss him instead. That would have saved Richie a lot of fuss and a lot of fear.

“Yeah, let’s do it,” Eddie said staring deep into Richie’s eyes, a calm air between them.

Richie put the cigarette to his lips, taking a deep breath, and putting a gentle hand on Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie, who rested his hands on Richie’s hips, opened his mouth slightly, waiting for Richie to finish.

Richie almost backed out when he realized what he had agreed to, almost shot up and ran off, never to be seen again, or worse, admitted everything to Eddie, that this was trick to get him close. Eddie was going to find out eventually that everything Richie did was a trick to like him, that Richie was only trying to get Eddie close enough that he could pretend there was this tension, this spark, this electricity that Richie had been denying. He couldn’t deny it any longer, not when Eddie was sitting there, waiting for Richie put their mouths close together and blow smoke.

There was nothing left to deny. The flood light from the barn beat down, hot and powerful like the summer sun.

Richie finished his hit, moving closer, slowly and deliberately, tilting his head slightly as though was going to actually kiss Eddie, and when he felt the gentle brush of their noses, he opened his mouth and blew out, the smoke traveling from his mouth to Eddie’s, a transfer of energy and electricity between two not best friends, between two almost somethings.

Eddie breathed in, but didn’t move back when he had finished, holding it in, holding the moment while Richie’s fingers played at the collar of Eddie’s shirt, Eddie holding his gaze through hooded eyes, looking at him under those long lashes. It would be so easy to close the distance and kiss him. How had Richie ever believed that they were only friends?

But after a second, Eddie pulled back, blowing the smoke out away from Richie’s face, a deep red rising into his face as his eyes snapped wide open. Before Richie could realize, Eddie was getting up, brushing off his jeans, and checking his watch.

“It’s um, getting late,” Eddie said.

Richie’s heart dropped when he realized how stupid he had been. There was a reason he had refused to notice what he and Eddie were, the connection between them, and he was an idiot to believe Eddie would have been ready to notice it too. That didn’t mean that Richie didn’t notice, nor the fact that it was there. Richie knew what he felt and he was sure that Eddie did too, otherwise he wouldn’t have been so quick to find an excuse to escape before the forest burned down.

“I thought you told your mom you were sleeping over,” Richie said, standing up as well. “I’m leaving tomorrow, Eds. I don’t wanna say goodbye just yet.”

“Don’t call me Eds,” Eddie said quietly as he wrapped his arms around himself, starting to shake.

Richie quickly and subconsciously shed his flannel shirt, and handed it over, forgetting he had thrown his cigarettes and lighter in the pocket, thinking about how he could get it back later because he saw Eddie all the time, but no, he wouldn’t. After tomorrow, he wouldn’t see Eddie for a long time because he was going to California and Eddie was staying here with his mother.

Eddie took the flannel without saying anything, putting it on because they done this before and Eddie knew there was no use in trying to deny Richie’s offer because Richie would always end up making some excuse about being warm blooded.

Despite the claim, Eddie stayed glued to the ground, not moving to finish saying goodbye and leave, or deciding to go back inside to rejoin the others. It was an invitation, Richie decided, to do something about it, about the tension, the feelings, the unspoken something that they had always been. But Richie had already told Eddie to come with him, and Eddie had blown him off, but maybe if Richie showed, really showed him how much he felt, how much he melted every time Eddie so much as looked in his direction, much less when they touched, grazed their hands, slept in the same bed, then maybe Eddie would say yes. Maybe Richie could convince him.

Richie attributed it to his impulsive stupidity when he grabbed Eddie’s face and kissed him, smashed their lips together it whatever desperate move he was attempting. He could feel Eddie freeze and worried that he had been wrong, that all of these years had been a farce and none of it meant anything to Eddie, at least not in the way it did to Richie, but then Eddie softened, leaned into it, hands slowly running themselves up Richie’s chest, obviously unsure of what to do.

Their mouths moved in tandem, slotting together like they had been doing this for years, completely sure of how to kiss each other, and Richie’s hand dragged down Eddie, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s waist and pulling him close, craving touch, tenderness, _his_ Eddie to be close to him. Eddie figured out what to do with his hands, throwing his arms around Richie’s neck to pull him down to his level.

It was hard to think with Eddie so close, closer than he had ever been before, as close as Richie had always dreamed of having him. Richie’s thoughts became mud, a slosh of incoherency as he tried to remember why he did this in the first place. He needed Eddie to understand. Understand what? How much Richie loved him, cared for him, that Eddie would be better off if he was with Richie and not here in Derry.

Richie had to take Eddie to California with him. He wasn’t going to let Eddie wither away in a shithole like Derry.

Richie kissed and kissed and kissed Eddie, knowing he had to say something, not quite sure how to word it, unwilling to break away because it might turn out to be a dream, that Richie would wake up in his bed and realize he had wasted away 18 years for nothing, 5 years pining after someone who would never love him back.

At some point, Eddie pushed away, actually shoving Richie’s chest with his hands, slightly hyperventilating and looking like he had seen a ghost, although Richie couldn’t understand why he would have been so terrified of a kiss, of acknowledging and noticing something that had been present for years, something Richie had known about the entire time.

“I’m not gay,” Eddie said quickly, and then Richie knew what there was to be scared of, remembering vividly the names and instances when he feared for his life. Even after Bowers was arrested, there was always someone around to throw an insult or hurl a punch, all because of the rumors, and maybe a little because of Richie’s big mouth, but he wouldn’t have had to use his big mouth if the rumors hadn’t existed in the first place.

Rumors that Maggie had to sit them down and explain why people thought the way they thought, not in a way that was mean or judgmental, but always with that motherly tone that told Richie that she loved him, both of them, more than anything and she couldn’t bear to see them hurt or in pain. It was the opposite of Sonia, who Richie remembered using the words that the bullies would use, would yell at Eddie, berate him in front of others when she caught him and Richie holding hands, how she would call Richie “dirty”, feeding into every rumor that went around town.

Richie had to take Eddie to California, or else Derry would kill him.

“Come to California with me,” Richie said in an attempt to rebuttal.

Eddie paused, looking around as though looking for a way out. “I’m going to Eastern in the fall.”

It was a shitty excuse and Richie knew it was an excuse. He had used plenty of them before he had finally convinced himself to leave. My parents will miss me. My friends will miss me. I’m not ready to live on my own just yet. California is expensive. All of them were true to some degree, but at some point soon after he turned 18, he realized that all they were was excuses, reasons to be a coward and stay in Derry. The minute he said he was leaving, it was set. No more excuses.

“There’s schools in California,” Richie said.

“I can’t just leave my mom,” Eddie said, pulling out yet another excuse, one that he had loaded and ready for when Richie rebutted the first.

“You’re 18,” Richie said as though it were obvious. “Your mom should be expecting you to move out.”

“I’m all she has, Richie,” Eddie said exasperatedly. “After my dad…” Eddie couldn’t finish, tears shining in his eyes.

Richie couldn’t believe what he was hearing. After all those talks, all these years of Eddie complaining about his mother, how she didn’t respect him, invaded his privacy, treated him like a child, all of it thrown out the window as Eddie chose to stay with her instead of going with Richie who was ready to give him the world.

“Fuck your mom,” Richie said with a little too much bite as he saw Eddie visibly react, but it was too late for Richie to stop. “Your mom doesn’t care about you. She’s lied to you and fed you fake pills and hates my guts because I have the nerve to be something that doesn’t fit her idea of a perfect fucking person, and she hates that you like being with me because I’m gonna make you realize that she’s not the person she’s wants you to think she is.”

“Fuck you, Richie,” Eddie said, wasting no time. Richie braced himself. “You don’t get to come at me like that, asking me to run away with you like I don’t have a responsibility to my mom, like I can just run at the drop of a hat because you asked me to. And you don’t get to kiss me like that when you know you’re leaving in the morning and never coming back…” Eddie swallowed what appeared to be a sob, holding it in so he could finish chewing Richie out.

“I know, Richie,” Eddie continued. “I know you’re never coming back, not even for me, so you can’t just kiss me, pretending like I’m lucky enough to be able to go with you, and then get mad at me for having someone who needs me, all when you know how I… what we…”

It was practically a confession to Richie, and maybe Eddie had a point that Richie should have been focusing on, but he was too busy thinking about how even when he was mad, Eddie was the most beautiful person in the world, how he wanted to take Eddie away from this life and give him one where he wouldn’t have to get mad like that. Never again would he feel like this.

“I thought you weren’t gay,” Richie muttered, unsure of what else to say.

“That’s not the point,” Eddie said quietly.

“No, guess not,” Richie said louder. “No, you’re not gay, but you’re a fucking coward.”

Richie was at his wit’s end, and he knew that Eddie, his best friend, his almost something, the love of his life, wasn’t going with him to California, and there was no convincing him otherwise. Richie couldn’t help himself when he used a horrible defense mechanism and projected all of his horrible feelings about himself onto Eddie, who only wanted to live a life where he wasn’t scared of his mother, scared of the town he lived in, scared that he would be found out. Richie shouldn’t have blamed him, but he was scared too. In his own mind, he didn’t have a choice.

“Fuck you, Richie,” Eddie said with finality, a few tears slipping down his face. “I’m not gay, and I’m not a fucking coward.” Eddie wiped his eyes and walked away from the barn, grabbing his bike that had been standing over where Richie had parked his car. “Hope you have a nice life, Rich. I never want to see you again.”

Richie called out, but there was no use because when Eddie was done, he was done and nothing would bring him back, especially not after something like this. Richie kicked the ground, and went back inside, lying that Eddie would come say goodbye to him in the morning, that they shouldn’t worry about Eddie. And Richie left in the morning with no Eddie to say goodbye to, but it didn’t matter because by the time he got to California a week later, he couldn’t remember why he felt like someone torn his heart in half and he couldn’t remember where he had put his flannel shirt, or if maybe he accidentally forgot it at home.

The next time Richie felt Eddie’s lips on his, the transference of energy, of electricity, the relieving of a tension so long ignored that it was about to snap, was in the cave when he was 40 years old. The last thing Richie remembered was being out in the open and the hot summer sun making itself known, and now he felt like he had been dragged on his back, collateral damage of being middle aged, and had been sleeping on rocks for years. He was protected, away from Pennywise, Eddie crouching over him, smiling softly, careful not to agitate the bandage on his cheek, and Mike was standing over them, obviously having pulled Richie to safety after whatever the fuck happened out there.

Richie recalled a long distant memory, one that arrived only because of where they were and what had happened, Ben kissed Bev awake out of the deadlights, the deadlights that Richie knew firsthand, at least to him, felt like the summer sun of an 18-year old boy who was refusing to acknowledge the spark.

Richie knew what Eddie had done because Eddie must have remembered what that summer sun felt like too, remembered the electricity and the spark and the flame that they were so scared was going to burn the forest down, but here they were, still standing, their fears nothing but a memory.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/the-u-s-s-enterprise) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/iheartsharkey) if you want to


End file.
